Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘I think it is. What exactly does a lady-in-waiting do?’

Again Jane laughed. ‘She waits, mostly. Waits for her majesty to call upon her services. Then she attends to her majesty’s needs, and sees that she is comfortable and content. Sometimes she is also required to attend to the queen’s spaniels.’

‘And her dwarf?’

‘Mr Hudson, thankfully, looks after himself.’

‘Thank you, madam. Was the question respectable?’

‘It was. I thought you might ask about my eyes. They are frequently asked about.’

‘I had noticed them. Most unusual, if I may say so.’

‘I’m fortunate to have been born the daughter of a squire. My father says that, had I been born to a carpenter, I would have been burned as a witch long ago. No one in Yorkshire had ever before seen eyes of different colours on the same face.’ Jane put out a hand to pick a stray thread from Thomas’s coat. As she did so, she noticed Tobias Rush looking at them with interest. ‘I see Master Rush is observing us closely, Master Hill. He is a loyal friend to the king, yet he always reminds me of a raven. Black feathers, black eyes, long beak. He stands out in a crowd of peacocks.’

Thomas turned and bowed to Rush, who acknowledged him with a tip of his black hat. ‘Master Rush has been most solicitous to me. But I know what you mean. There is something unsettling about him. Do you know anything of his history?’

‘Very little, except that he’s highly regarded by the king. The queen, on the other hand, does not care for him. I did hear that he is of humble origins, and that his father was a turnkey in London. If that’s true, he’s come far.’ Jane looked over his shoulder. ‘Here is Captain Fayne. Allow me to introduce you. He too is staying in Pembroke.’ Thomas turned to see Fayne striding towards them. ‘Francis,’ she said, ‘allow me to present Master Thomas Hill, in Oxford to visit an old friend. Master Hill, this is Captain Fayne.’

‘Captain Fayne and I are acquainted, Lady Romilly,’ replied Thomas with a smile. ‘We happened to meet in the college.’

Fayne’s hooded eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed we did. A bookseller, was it not?’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘A bookseller with a comfortable room to himself.’

‘I am fortunate in that respect.’

‘You are a bookseller, Master Hill?’ asked Jane.

‘I am, madam. I have a small shop in Romsey.’

‘I recall your mentioning Romsey.’

‘I cannot imagine what a little bookseller is doing in Oxford at such a time, Hill. Can you enlighten us?’ asked Fayne.

‘I am on the king’s business. I can say no more.’

Fayne bent his head to put his face in front of Thomas’s, and hissed, ‘Well, make haste and do the king’s business, Hill, because I want my room back.’

Thomas retreated a step, and looked enquiringly at Jane. How did she come to know this creature? Fayne sounded as if he would like nothing better than to tear Thomas into small pieces and, if they had been anywhere other than at a royal masque, he would have done so. Jane glanced to her left. ‘Master Hill, the queen is signalling. She requires my presence, and, if I’m not mistaken, yours too.’

‘Mine? Surely not.’

‘Her majesty takes a close interest in her staff and their friends. She probably wants to know who you are. Come. I shall present you.’ Together they left Fayne standing on his own. Thomas sensed dark eyes boring into the back of his neck. Just as well the king and queen were present or he might by now have been disembowelled.

Before the queen, Jane curtseyed and Thomas bowed.

‘And who is this, Lady Romilly?’

‘Your majesty, this is Master Thomas Hill, in Oxford visiting his old tutor. We met by chance in the town.’ Thomas bowed again. The queen peered at him. She looked a formidable lady. No wonder some called her the ‘Generalissima’.

‘Master Hill. We welcome you to Oxford, now capital of England, and the seat of its lawful parliament.’

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

‘Lady Romilly is a loyal servant and a dear friend. He who harms her harms me. If she is also your friend, be sure to protect her from danger at all times. With your life, if needs must.’

‘That I certainly shall, your majesty.’

‘Good. We are pleased to have met you, Master Hill.’

A third bow, and a cautious retreat.

‘With my life? A little dramatic on so short an acquaintance, don’t you think?’ said Thomas.

‘The queen is not given to understatement. Do not take her too literally.’

‘I shall try not to. Now, if you will excuse me, Lady Romilly,’ he said, when they had moved into the crowd, ‘I have a letter to give to Master Rush. Then I will slip away. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

‘I would like that, Master Hill. You have told me little about yourself. Or about what really brought you to Oxford.’ Thomas took his leave with a polite smile.

Rush watched him approach. ‘Master Hill, I see you are acquainted with Lady Romilly. A charming lady. How do you come to know her?’

‘We met by chance in the street. I was able to render a small service to the lady.’

‘How fortunate. A lady to whom many would like to render a small service.’

Thomas ignored the unexpected vulgarity. ‘You kindly agreed to have a letter delivered to my sister, sir. Here it is.’

‘By all means. It shall go with the next messenger.’

‘I’m grateful, sir.’ Thomas retreated towards the gate. Tobias Rush was indeed an unusual man. Forbidding in manner, kindly in deed. Scrupulously polite one day, coarse the next. Not an easy book to read.

Having successfully navigated Blue Boar Street, he arrived back at Pembroke to be greeted just inside the gate by an indignant Fayne. ‘And what, may I ask, was a miserable bookseller doing at the queen’s masque?’ he demanded.

‘I was invited, sir, as, I imagine, were you.’

‘Naturally I was invited. I have been presented more than once to her majesty. She is aware of my loyalty to her and my interest in the dramatic arts. What I want to know is why you were invited, and by whom?’

‘I was invited by Master Rush.’

‘Rush. I might have guessed it.’

‘Now, sir, if you will excuse me,’ said Thomas politely, ‘I have work to do.’

‘And what work would that be? Selling books? Or something more sinister? If I thought for a second that you were disloyal to the Crown, Hill, I’d have you interrogated. And don’t forget it.’

‘I shan’t. Good day, sir.’

‘And another thing, Hill. Keep away from Jane Romilly.’

Thomas did not reply. Would he have to endure this every time he set foot outside his room? The man was obsessed. A tiny room and now Jane Romilly. Why could Fayne not find somewhere else to take his pleasures? Down by the river, perhaps, where Thomas had taken them himself all those years ago. Should he tell Rush about the man? No, let it be. Perhaps the oaf would go away.

He stared at yet another pile of papers. The only thing at all interesting about decoding military reports, thought Thomas, was finding the mistakes made by their incompetent encrypters. Very few of them remembered to use the right codeword and they all sent messages full of careless errors. The only source of comfort was that, judging by the few intercepted messages that had landed on his table, the enemy’s efforts were every bit as feeble.

The subject matter was irredeemably tedious. When lacking anything better to occupy them, the king’s commanders relieved their boredom by firing off despatches on matters of excruciating banality. Why Sir Marmaduke Rawdon on the south coast thought that his majesty should be apprised of his recent attack of gout, or Sir John Owen in North Wales felt it necessary to remind him that, to be effective, wagons need horses and horses need hay, defeated Thomas. Neither, however, were as regular in their correspondence as the gallant Earl of Northampton. By now, Thomas knew everything he could possibly wish about his lordship’s household, hopes and health. But each message had to be decrypted, rendered into plain text and passed to Abraham, and thence to the king. Whether his majesty bothered to read them, Thomas doubted. He longed to find a message of extreme urgency and vital importance. Sighing, he picked up the pile and went to see Abraham.